


Ambrosia

by tadok0ro



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Canon, Theseus has two brain cells, one for fighting and one for appreciating Asterius, realizing feelings through the sensual act of ambrosia sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadok0ro/pseuds/tadok0ro
Summary: “Horrible,” Asterius manages between coughs.“Horrible?”“That stuff. Tastes horrible.”--Or: Theseus realizes Asterius can't enjoy Ambrosia and takes it upon himself to remedy that.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 740





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just think these two are neat :)

It’s after another of their battles in the arena against one of the honored shades of Elysium, a battle they easily won. 

Theseus cradles the newest bottle of Ambrosia delicately in one of his bulky arms while he leans his spear against the wall. They already have plenty of bottles of the stuff- a stash so monumental that surely even Dionysus would be brought to jealousy from it- Asterius doesn’t understand why each one is so precious to the king.

“That was well fought today, Asterius!” Theseus' voice is as loud and boisterous as it is in the arena, something that still unsettles Asterius a little. 

He’s still patching up the wounds he’d received from the fight. The shade, after trying to boldly strike Theseus down first, had turned instead to Asterius when the king’s shield and speed were too difficult to get around. Not that he could blame them. He was a much bigger and slower target to hit after all.

He huffs an affirmative to Theseus.

“I say we’ve well deserved this fine bottle of Ambrosia today.” Theseus is already kicked back on a plush recliner with a mountain of equally plush pillows piled on it. He sinks into them as if cradled by clouds, wonderfully comfortable, and pops open the bottle of Ambrosia with practiced ease. 

Asterius continues mending his wounds while Theseus pays no mind. Not that Asterius takes offense to it. No, at first he thought it was because the king felt himself above helping a monster like him (nevermind that Theseus had gone to such lengths to get him to Elysium), but as time went on he realized that Theseus was just that oblivious most of the time.

“Mmm!” Theseus has his nose to the mouth of the bottle, apparently finding the smell delightful on its own. “My, this Ambrosia smells positively _divine_ today.”

Asterius snorts.

“Asterius!” Theseus looks positively scandalized as he quickly sits up, casting some of his pillows onto the pristine marble floor. “You scoff at me and this fine delicacy?!” There’s a beat, Theseus’s expression softens from disdain to something distant and Asterius can practically see the gears turning in the king’s head. “Have you ever tried Ambrosia?” It’s Theseus so it almost sounds mocking like he can’t even fathom someone having not tried it before. 

(He has a point, Asterius thinks because together they’ve won a mountain of it, and still he hasn’t had any. But does he deserve it?) 

Asterius shifts ever so slightly away from Theseus without saying a word and that’s answer enough for the king. (Theseus has gotten remarkably good at reading him, unsettlingly good. The man may be the densest person in all of Elysium, but he’s more perceptive than anyone would give him credit for. However selective that perception may be.) 

Theseus springs to his feet, utterly ruining his perfect cloud of pillows as most of them cascade off the recliner in his haste.

“Asterius, I can’t believe this!” He stomps off towards the far end of the room, continually muttering as he starts searching for something. “After all this time you’ve never had a drop!” There’s a loud clatter as something is knocked over. “You should have told me sooner! I just can’t believe this!” There’s one last crash before Theseus is back in front of him, an opulent goblet in one hand, Ambrosia bottle in the other. “Here!” He thrusts the goblet to Asterius.

“What?” Asterius blinks but takes it anyway. Despite looking large in Theseus’s hands, the cup looks tiny in Asterius’. “King, I-”

“Not a word, my friend!” Theseus shushes him and pours a generous helping for Asterius. “We wouldn’t have such a treat if it weren’t for you. Now, go on. Drink!”

Asterius thinks that would be enough for the king, that he would go back to his own world and savor what was left in the bottle, but no. Theseus steps back and stares at him expectantly, eyes glittering in a way Asterius hasn’t seen before and his usual smug, overconfident smile is softened into something else.

Asterius swallows and looks down quickly at the drink, it’s rich golden hue appealing in a visual sense at the very least. He sniffs at it carefully and can’t smell anything from it- at least not anything that would have warranted Theseus’s outburst earlier. Speaking of- He glances back up to find Theseus still looking at him. 

_Fine._

He throws back the drink in one go and-

Sputters.

Gags.

“What’s wrong, Asterius?” Theseus rushes back towards him, hand reaching out, but halting just shy of touching his shoulder.

“Horrible,” Asterius manages between coughs.

“Horrible?” 

“That stuff. Tastes horrible.” 

“Horrible?!” Theseus almost sounds offended with the way the volume and pitch of his voice rise suddenly.

Asterius snorts.

“Why? What’s it supposed to taste like?” He spits out, hoping it would get the rancid taste off his tongue. Maybe his voice is a little too aggressive because Theseus takes a step back and for a brief moment an icy spear of panic shoots through Asterius. Is this the moment Theseus realizes he made a mistake bringing Asterius here?

But Theseus just seems confused.

“It’s supposed to taste like-” he stumbles trying to find the right words, sputtering through a mess of different descriptors before giving up, “-good. It’s supposed to taste good! Like- like the tastiest thing you’ve ever had in your life!”

Asterius blinks at him.

Theseus stares back.

Nothing passes between them, but Theseus’ eyes become distant for a brief moment. He blinks slowly and a gear seems to click in his brain as he remembers _who_ he’s talking to and his experiences in life. There’s no pity in Theseus’ eyes when their gazes reconnect, but there’s an unspoken understanding. 

“Well then!” He puffs his chest out and smiles like he would for all his adoring shades in the arena. “We will just have to remedy this then! I can’t have my partner unable to appreciate the spoils of our work!”

Asterius blinks. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s pretty sure he wouldn't know what delicious _is_ in the first place. Life provided him with no guide and now in death, he was just glad to never experience the gnawing hunger again.

“I-” 

“Nonsense Asterius! I will not rest until you can enjoy Ambrosia the same as I. That is a promise.” 

There’s that same defiant look in Theseus’ eyes as when he first persisted in approaching him in the outer reaches of Erebus, turning rivalry into unsteady friendship and eventually ferrying him to Elysium. Once Theseus has set his mind to something such as this, he won’t let it go.

“I- Fine, my king.” He lowers his head, knowing it’s just a losing battle if he tries to fight.

“Fantastic! I know we’ll find something!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus and Asterius go to the Elysium farmers market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My glacial writing process strikes again and I continue to make a mockery of Elysium!

They return to their regular routine- training, fighting, resting briefly, repeat. After a few iterations of it Asterius wonders if the king has already forgotten the promise he’d so heartily declared. Which is relieving to him in a way. He didn’t want Theseus to go through such lengths for him of all things, it would surely distract him from more important things. 

It’s like any other day-or night- in Elysium for them. They leave to train, taking the familiar route through chambers of exalted shades sparring, over the Lethe, skirting past one of the minor arenas. That’s where the path would split and they’d take the lower path, a little ways away from the arena proper where Theseus has carved their own personal space to train.

But when Asterius starts down that path this time, there’s a gentle tug on his arm.

“What?” 

Asterius stops and looks back at Theseus, who’s staring up at him hopefully.

“Friend Asterius, I must insist you indulge me.” 

“Tell me where we’re going before I agree,” Asterius says, but he’s already letting Theseus’ gentle pull guide him away, up the other path.

“I said I would find something you would like!" His hand slips down Asterius' arm to curl around his hand. “I wish to make good on that promise.” 

He opens his mouth to respond but stops when he looks at their hands. There was a time not long ago when even the most benign touches from Theseus would cause him to flinch away. And yet here he was, awkwardly holding hands with the king, Elysium's champion. Has he been tamed so easily? ( _No,_ he thinks. Theseus is just unbearably _handsy_. If it were anyone else he wouldn’t be so accepting of it.)

Theseus guides them to a market just outside the arena and despite there being no matches going on, it's still bustling. Asterius has never seen so many shades in one place outside of the stands of the arena. (But then again, he tends to avoid crowds after the matches or any of the gatherings Theseus tries to drag him to.)

“-these are some of Elysium’s finest, I have no doubt I can find something for you!”

Has Theseus been talking this whole time?

They’re not even close to one of the first booths when one of the shades turns and notices them, delightedly exclaiming that the Champion is there. Asterius quickly lets go of Theseus’s hand as the crowd shifts and moves towards them like a wave. 

Asterius catches Theseus glance back at him a quick moment before they- or rather _Theseus_ \- is beset by fans clamoring for attention. 

Theseus easily soaks up the attention, like always. The shades hand him various things to sign and he does so without a second thought, barely even looking at what he’s doing while chatting with other shades. He doesn’t even notice when the autograph trails awkwardly off the edge of the tapestry adorned with his face- but the shade doesn’t seem to notice or mind either. (Where did Theseus even _get_ something to sign with? Asterius doesn’t think too hard about it because somehow, no matter what, Theseus is always prepared for fans.)

“Now, now, everyone, we’re here on important business! We must be on our way.” Theseus booms to the crowd and a few shades towards the back let out a disappointed groan. He glances back to Asterius and nods before he starts moving through the crowd. It parts easily and a few bow their head in respect as they pass. ( _As Theseus passes,_ Asterius thinks.) “I shall dedicate our next glorious match to you all!” Theseus waves to them and they cheer before dispersing.

Asterius watches the crowd as it scatters and marvels at how they walk away starry-eyed, some blushing, after their interactions with the king. Surely that is what it meant to be blessed by the gods, to be able to enchant others so thoroughly. 

“I could not do that.” He mumbles as they approach one of the stalls.

“You could!” Theseus says, his volume is down to a somewhat more reasonable level now that he’s out of the spotlight. “They adore you, Asterius.” He gestures to one of the stalls nearest the arena that has various merchandise spread across it. It has the tapestries with Theseus’ face lovingly woven on it and there’s a matching one for Asterius. They even have low-quality replicas of their matching Champion belts and for some reason, there are sets of fake horns shaped and colored just like Asterius’ (albeit much smaller than the real things) that shades could wear on their head if they wanted.

Asterius snorts. _Yeah, right._ He’s pretty sure that’s a result of bored craftsmen more than people adoring him.

But the topic is dropped as Theseus puts his focus entirely on the task he’s appointed himself. He goes from stall to stall looking over everything with a keen eye, scrutinizing every single piece of produce he comes across. There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to what Theseus picks out, as far as Asterius can tell, just that he avoids vegetables and favors fruits.

Eventually, after Asterius has his hands full of various fruits Theseus has passed to him and the king has his own small collection, they bid farewell to the market and start heading back the way they came.

Not far along the way, Theseus guides them on a new path, winding through a couple of chambers before settling in a secluded spot at the feet of one of the massive statues sculpted to reflect the ideals of warriors. Flowers have overtaken the base of the statue and there’s grass overgrowing the stone path nearly obscuring it entirely. The nearest shades are below them in another chamber, sparring with one another.

Theseus sits in the grass near the statue, next to where its massive spear tip has fallen and stuck into the ground, letting his collection of items spill out in front of him. He pats the space next to him and Asterius follows, carefully adding his own items to the pile.

And then Theseus is explaining what each one is- figs, peaches, grapes, quinces, and even a pomegranate among other things- before handing them to Asterius one by one.

Asterius samples a bit of everything, following Theseus’ lead. They stay in relative silence most of the time, watching the exalted shades spar with Theseus’ occasional commentary on their form or the mistakes they make. 

Most of it tastes… alright. Certainly better than anything Asterius had in life, but that was a low bar and he knew that. 

“Well, Asterius, what do you think?” Theseus asks after they split the pomegranate- the last item from their tasting spree, having apparently saved the most expensive for last.

“Hm.” Asterius hums as he considers the taste on his tongue carefully. It’s tart, yet still kind of sweet. Somehow it reminds him of Theseus. “It’s alright.”

Which might as well have been a shining review by the way Theseus’s face lights up at his words. He eagerly reaches behind him and reveals a bottle of ambrosia he’s kept _somewhere_ , as well as two glasses.

“Surely now you will understand the pleasures of ambrosia!” Theseus pours them both a good helping of it, before holding out his cup to Asterius. They share a toast of sorts.

Asterius pauses as he puts the cup to his lips, hesitant to drink it again. He doesn’t exactly want to gag on the horrible taste again and neither does he want to disappoint Theseus after going through all of _this._

He glances over to the man in question and sees that he’s stilled, cup to his lips, eyes trained closely on Asterius in anticipation. There’s a challenging glint in his eyes like he won’t have a drop of his drink until Asterius does.

Asterius sighs and closes his eyes as he steels himself before taking a generous sip.

This time though…. 

He sputters a little bit at an overwhelming bitterness, but it’s laced with an aftertaste of pomegranate that’s mingled with the handful of other fruits he’s tried today. 

It’s not wholly unpleasant, which is an improvement, but it’s also not particularly enjoyable.

He opens his eyes to see Theseus still frozen, staring at him. One eyebrow raises in a silent question.

“Pomegranate.” Asterius answers, he coughs as he tastes the bitterness still lingering in the back of his throat.

“Pomegranate?” Theseus’ brows knit together as he frowns.

“Mostly,” Asterius tosses in as if that would ease the crease in the king's brow. 

It doesn’t.

Theseus sighs and lowers the cup from his lips.

“Oh, Asterius, that won’t do at all!” 

Asterius huffs. “What?”

“Ambrosia is not just the _taste-”_

“Then what was the point-”

“It’s taste imbued with _experience_ , Asterius! With _feelings_!” He gestures with a dramatic flourish to emphasize each word, almost spilling his precious ambrosia everywhere.

Asterius still wants an answer to what the point of this venture was anyways if it wasn’t all about taste, but then he remembers this is _Theseus_ of all people. He likely didn’t think it through in the first place. 

“Well.” Asterius can’t say he has much in the way of good memories either. Or experiences. Or feelings. “What does it taste like for you, king?”

Theseus’ face softens and he looks away, almost bashful.

“Now Asterius, I don’t want to potentially influence your tastes!” Theseus runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it slightly. An errant curl falls free from where it had been carefully combed earlier. He takes a sip of ambrosia, oddly quiet.

“Hm.” Asterius doesn’t know if it would even be possible to influence his tastes that way considering none of the experiences were his own, but who knows. He certainly doesn’t. “Perhaps one like me isn’t supposed to enjoy it.” It would make sense. Something of Olympian make would surely never be enjoyed by a monster.

Theseus seems to perk up back up at his words.

“Nonsense Asterius! Though you may be the result of the Gods’ wrath, surely they honor you all the same.”

“I’m not so sure.” The most honored he’s felt by any God was when Hades listened to Theseus’ plea. 

“Even so, it tasted better this time, did it not my friend?” 

Asterius nods slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Then we are on the right course! We need but continue on it.” Theseus nods his head, looking remarkably triumphant as if he’s just unraveled a particularly hard riddle or bested a challenging foe in the arena.

“How…?” Asterius is mildly worried about what he might be getting into with this.

“If there was no joy in life we need but make it in death!” Theseus’ eyes are practically glittering as he looks up at Asterius. His eyes are so remarkably blue, smile dazzling.

Something about it makes Asterius’ phantom breath catch and stomach flip, but not in a bad way. He glances away quickly.

“Also Asterius, you wound me! Your taste suggests you’ve not enjoyed yourself thus far with me in Elysium.” There’s an audible pout in Theseus’ voice.

Asterius stiffens.

“No, king, I didn’t mean-” He _has_ enjoyed himself. He enjoys fighting Theseus when they train. Enjoys fighting beside him. Pushing themselves to the limits felt good- better than their one and only fight in life. No matter how frustrating Theseus could be, he wouldn’t call any of it bad. Perhaps he’s not expressed it well- or at all for that matter- but he certainly didn’t want the king to believe him ungrateful.

But Theseus laughs and pats Asterius on the back.

“I jest Asterius!”

And all of Asterius’ muscles seem to relax at once.

“I know if you didn’t enjoy yourself you wouldn’t be here.” Theseus sighs and lies back against the grass, kicking his legs out to get more comfortable. “Perish the thought! I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

_Not get thrown into things practicing ridiculous moves so often with me probably,_ Asterius thinks, but he finds himself grinning regardless. 

“You’d do fine without me, king.” 

He sips at the remaining ambrosia in his cup, not wanting to waste something Theseus finds so precious, before leaning back and joining Theseus sprawled out on the grass.

(And maybe it’s just his imagination, but this time the ambrosia tastes a little bit sweeter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with how this came out, but I got the parts that I wanted to in it even if there's some unnecessary silliness I felt I needed to include (like Elysium having horribly tacky merchandise for their big-name fighters akin to professional wrestling merch. My brain won't let the idea go.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Election anxiety had me useless for the past week+, but thankfully I had most of this written before I even posted the first part B)
> 
> CW for alcohol and drinking, however lighthearted it might be.

It’s another day in the arena, but the exalted shade that faces them is far from ordinary. They’re fast and agile, able to dive out of Asterius’ sweeping axe and weave through Theseus’ defenses to strike at him. It gets to the point where Theseus is pushed to his limit and he calls upon the Gods to aid him. 

Dionysus answers and the fight is quickly wrapped up after that.

The crowd goes wild and Theseus, as always, turns and soaks up the praise and attention. Asterius lingers towards the side of the arena, watching and waiting to exit with his partner. 

Theseus’ hand is full of flowers- a makeshift bouquet- thrown by the zealous fans when he finally sees fit to leave the spotlight and he smiles broadly up at Asterius.

He’s a little worse for wear than usual, his hair disheveled (still somehow just as dashing as ever), his armor dirtied, and a few scrapes on his face and arms. The evidence of the God’s favor still lingers on his cheeks, dusted red like he’s been drinking heavily instead of fighting to the death. (It’s not often Asterius has seen him after receiving these blessings, and some had less visible effects than others. He recalls most clearly when Zeus himself blessed Theseus, the king’s hair stood on end afterward and sparks seemed to radiate off his body. Asterius couldn’t get within arms reach of him without getting shocked.)

“Asterius! We must honor Dionysus with a feast for helping us secure this victory!”

‘Helping _you_ secure victory,’ is what Asterius wants to shoot back because he maybe landed _one_ hit that entire match, but he knows the path that line of dialogue would go down if he spoke it. So instead he just huffs an affirmation as they turn to walk out together, side by side as they always do- and always will.

He knows that within moments of leaving the arena Theseus will have arranged everything, the power of his sway as Champion of Elysium made it so the shades fawned over his every word for the most part. (Asterius can’t blame them, though, it was very hard not to get swept up in Theseus’ presence.) And sure enough, there’s a cluster of shades waiting for them and Theseus declares his intent for this grand feast.

“Now, I know you typically don’t do these things Asterius, but I must insist you join us.” Theseus pivots on his feet to address Asterius directly, the crowd already dispersing to start preparations.

Asterius snorts.

“Why?” He hasn’t been to any of these celebrations before and he doesn’t intend to start.

Theseus pouts. 

“Because Asterius!” He crosses his arms looking very much the part of a grown child. “You played a vital role in this victory today! You deserve to savor it and enjoy yourself too!”

Asterius snorts again. He’s already been given more in the afterlife than he’s ever deserved.

“Aaaaaand,” Theseus adds, “there will be some of the finest dishes and entertainment known to Elysium there. Maybe you will find something you enjoy. Gods forbid you might actually have fun!” 

“Unlikely.” Asterius shoots back. Social settings like that weren’t his strong suit, nor his idea of fun. As much as he hated the silence and stillness of the labyrinth, he didn’t care for crowds or loud festivities either.

It’s almost imperceptible how Theseus flags a little at Asterius’s words, his smile faltering just the slightest for the faintest moment, but he can see it. And it has him relenting just as surely as when Theseus has him on his knees during their spars, spear at his throat.

“...But fine. I’ll go.”

Theseus beams at Asterius' words, face lighting up in a way that has Asterius wondering if perhaps Apollo had blessed him during the battle as well.

“Wonderful!” 

\---

The feast is… fine. The food is acceptable and the drink is not to his liking. 

Asterius sits next to Theseus the entire time, feeling hopelessly out of place trying to squeeze his massive body at a table not built for someone of his size. A few of the shades attempt talking to him, probably out of politeness more than any other reason, and quickly find it to be a dead-end with his curt responses. What common ground did they have besides residing in Elysium? (Asterius didn’t even deserve to be there like they did.)

The revelry commences as several of the shades start playing music and they quickly forget about him and indulge in the wine that’s been generously flowing. Many of the shades are pink-faced before long, laughing at whatever mundane thing they suddenly find hilarious and causing a mess with their clumsiness.

Theseus is among them, too. His eyes hooded and cheeks pink not just from the blessing this time.

“Have I told you about the time I met Asterius?” He paws at the air uselessly a few times before connecting with Asterius’ shoulder in a pat that’s just a little too forceful, words slurring together slightly. He’s told the story at least five different times this gathering alone by Asterius’ count, with varying degrees of accuracy. “Speaking of-!” Theseus’ attention suddenly whips from the shade he’d been speaking with to Asterius. The wine in his cup sloshes dangerously. “Asterius!” He flashes him a lopsided grin. "How are you enjoying it?" 

Asterius looks down at his empty plate and cup as if looking for an answer. He's not one for lying, especially to Theseus, but he doesn't know how to phrase it in a way that will satisfy the king. He doesn’t want to ruin his good mood in any way.

“It’s fine,” he says after a moment. 

Theseus’ eyes seem to sober and sharpen to a point as he looks Asterius up and down. And then Theseus leans in towards him in an ungraceful, drunken sway, stopping just short of bumping their heads together.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” 

Theseus’ breath tickles his ear and they twitch at the unfamiliar sensation, sending a shiver down Asterius’ spine. 

“No, king, I will stay.” He doesn't particularly want to, but neither does it feel right to leave Theseus' side. Especially when he was drinking so much. Besides, he’s not one to back down from discomfort. If he could tolerate it in life he could put up with a brief moment of it for now.

“Very well!” Theseus leans back and the moment is no longer theirs. “Have you met this fine fellow Prosymnus?” He motions to a shade a few seats down the table, his stature is unimpressive, clearly not a warrior. The answer is of course no, Theseus doesn’t even need to hear it before continuing. “He has a most _fascinating_ tale about Lord Dionysus!”

The man tells an outlandish tale with great detail and enthusiasm and Asterius is glad that his fur-covered face hides the blush that comes to his cheeks.

He makes a note to never go to one of these feasts again.

\--

Asterius has to help Theseus walk home, despite his insistence that he can make it by himself. (He can’t. The king could barely stand up from his seat without almost falling to the floor. He doesn’t want to deal with losing Theseus in such a careless way, no matter if he’d be back and perfectly fine in no time.)

Theseus babbles the whole way there, animatedly throwing his arms around as he talks about his many achievements in life and death. Asterius huffs agreements when prompted, but mostly he’s focused on holding him steady.

They make it home without a problem, thank the Gods, but then-

“Asterius!” Theseus sways on his feet without the support of Asterius’ firm hand keeping him steady. “We should have some ambrosia to cap off this fine evening, don’t you think?”

“I think we should rest.” Even if it was eternally light in Elysium and they had no need of sleep in the same way their mortal bodies had, Asterius is exhausted. 

He trusts Theseus enough to not kill himself in their shared quarters- there are enough pillows and soft, plush rugs that any fall would be cushioned appropriately- so he turns and heads for his bed. 

There’s no loud crashing or sounds of alarm from Theseus- although he talks to himself the entire time, it’s faint and muted by the heavy curtain dividing Asterius’ sleeping quarters from their living space- so Asterius settles under the covers and closes his eyes.

He almost drifts to sleep when suddenly there’s a weight on his bed, climbing up on top of him and his eyes shoot open.

It’s Theseus, of course, but the sight of the king crawling over him, face still flush from drinking, has Asterius alarmed in more ways than one. He sits up.

“What are you doing?” He tries to sound aggressive, or angry- maybe scare the king into his senses with the threat of being crushed- but his voice fails him, coming out choked and confused.

“Asteriuuuus,” Theseus practically whines his name, shuffling further up so he’s sitting in the bull’s lap fully. “I want to share this with you.” He holds up a bottle of ambrosia, clutching it as if his life depends on it.

“We can do that after you’ve had some rest, king.” Asterius tries to lean further away, but there’s very little room to maneuver himself. He’s so close to Theseus he can smell him- the lingering smell of flowers from the scented oil he’d lathered all over himself after their post-match bath, and the wine he’d spilled on his clothes. The same wine he smells on Theseus’ breath when he speaks and Asterius’ thoughts stray to a dark corner of his mind where he wonders if he would be able to taste it on the king's lips if he-

Theseus wiggles in Asterius’ lap and thoroughly distracts his thoughts yet again. Asterius brings his hand up to still Theseus, marveling at how it wraps almost halfway around the king’s middle and how _small_ he looks. Theseus is anything but small, he may be short to Asterius (everyone was), but he refused to let himself be anything but large- in personality, in ego, in volume.

“Fine, but then we rest.” Asterius’ voice cracks, throat suddenly dry and the thought of drinking ambrosia, no matter the taste, is welcome. He takes the bottle easily from Theseus’ pliant hand and pops the top off of it.

Theseus sits back, clearly delighted, and watches with single minded focus as Asterius brings the bottle to his lips.

"I do so hope tonight's events have inspired some experiences to infuse the taste, my dear Asterius." 

_Ah, so that was his goal with all this._

He distracts himself with the ambrosia, letting it spill into his mouth as generously as the wine had earlier.

There's still a lingering _unpleasantness_ , there's the metallic tang of blood and he _tastes_ the labyrinth, as acrid as ever, but it's not the usual labyrinth- not the torturous labyrinth he hated, it’s the labyrinth with Theseus and their fight and the thrill of feeling alive for the first time. The flavor shifts and the labyrinth fades, instead honing in on something else. Pomegranates and Elysium flowers, oil and the clash of spear against axe, the cheer of the crowd. The warmth of a supportive hand on his shoulder, the fragrant smell of hair that looks tantalizingly soft when Theseus leans a bit too close, the desire to touch and feel the warmth of him-

Oh.

Asterius blinks.

The taste is both a revelation and an accusation tangled into one big knot that was somehow always there, unseen.

“Asterius?” Theseus leans forward, concern etched across his features and suddenly the air feels all too dense and Theseus is _too close._ “How was it?”

“It was…” Asterius looks away. “Fine.” He can’t bring himself to say the whole truth of its flavor to Theseus, he’s barely processed it himself. He presses the bottle of ambrosia back to Theseus’ chest, nudging him to move off his lap.

“Fine?” Theseus asks as he lets himself be rearranged, pliant either from alcohol or confusion, absentmindedly taking the ambrosia into his hands. 

Of course, Theseus would not be satisfied with anything but overwhelmingly good.

“It was good,” Asterius says as he shifts onto his side, back turned to Theseus. “Now let’s rest.”

“Good?! Asterius you must tell me what it tastes like!” Although Asterius can’t see him, he knows Theseus’ face has lit up. The bed dips with Theseus’ movements and he’s shuffling closer to Asterius again.

“Please let’s rest, king. It’s been a long day. I will tell you when I wake.” He doesn’t particularly want to, but he’s hoping Theseus won’t remember this. (He doesn’t remember things half the time when sober anyway.)

“Very well, Asterius,” Theseus lets out a resigned sigh. There’s the slosh of ambrosia in the bottle as Theseus takes his share of it and the clink of glass against stone as he sets the empty bottle onto the floor.

The bed shifts again and Asterius thinks Theseus is about to leave, but instead the covers lift and there’s warmth at his back, pleasant in a way he’s afraid to get accustomed to.

“Goodnight, sweet Asterius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feel free to yell at me on [tumblr](https://tadok0ro.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/Tadok0ro/)


	4. Chapter 4

After the feast and everything that followed, Theseus doesn’t bring up the topic of ambrosia. He’s likely forgotten, which is fine. Asterius is in no rush to divulge the truth of the taste and his mind struggles to create a suitable lie, so it remains unspoken.

And things go back to the usual in Elysium. 

Or at least it should have.

Somehow that night has changed  _ something.  _

Asterius’ thoughts are invaded by the taste of ambrosia and the thoughts about Theseus it’s seemingly created. (Or rather unearthed. Asterius knows deep down that they’ve always been there, under the surface, underlying every fond thought about Theseus, every lingering glance.) 

It’s enough to shake him. Enough to invite a flood of doubts into every movement, every interaction with Theseus.

When they train Asterius’ movements are awkward and stiff, weighed down by his thoughts constantly  _ questioning _ . (Is it really okay? Is a monster like him welcome to touch a king? No, surely not. His existence on its own was enough to offend kings in life. But Theseus has never complained. But Theseus is also  _ unaware _ .)

And so, Asterius hesitates. His touch is fumbling, feather-light as if his fingers might tarnish Theseus’ very being just from the contact. (What would the other heroes of Elysium think?)

Even if Theseus somehow felt similarly (surely he didn’t), Asterius is painfully aware of his reputation. Theseus is ever bragging, telling stories of his conquests in life, the many wives and lovers, rarely without someone in his bed-  _ humans,  _ not monsters. Asterius can’t help but feel inadequate in comparison. And that too is another doubt that pierces his mind like a thorn.

Theseus is dense, but he’s not  _ stupid _ . Asterius knows that he’s noticed the change, the shift in behavior. There are double glances, a furrow of the brow when Asterius shifts away if Theseus shifts too close. The worst is the hurt in his eyes when Asterius flinches away from his touch.

Theseus doesn’t bring it up, his usual boisterous self turned silent as a result of Asterius’ actions. His smile more forced than before, his motions less enthusiastic than before. 

But as much as he feels guilty about it, Asterius knows that it’s for the better. Theseus would not want to lay a hand on him if he knew the kind of thoughts his touch unearthed.

That doesn’t make Asterius hate it any less.

All because of the ambrosia.

Asterius curses it.

\--

They’re in the arena and the cheer of the crowd is just a dull buzz in the background. 

The shade that’s challenging them is less skilled than the usual contender, footwork sloppy and grip unsteady on his spear. It’s almost an insult to be matched against someone of such inferior ability, but the Champions aren’t fighting at their usual level.

The doubts have bled into here too, and movements that would be second nature have become stilted- their usual teamwork broke down into a disjointed mess of mistimed attacks. They’re barely a team, let alone partners that have held the Championship together. 

So the shade, no matter his ability, has a distinct advantage. One he’s not foolish enough to ignore and he presses forward, jabbing at Asterius in the opening of every slow swing, every pause when Theseus speaks.

Asterius is all too familiar with this- being pushed to his limits, he welcomes it and the rush that accompanies it. But now the jab of the spear pushes the pain from satisfying to harsh and he’s brought down to one knee, breath ragged and struggling. 

“Asterius!” Theseus’ voice is raw and frayed at the edges, distressed even though he’s witnessed Asterius injured times beyond count. He’s in front of him in a flash, shield lowered and hand extended- heedless to his own defenses, something any good combatant would take advantage of. 

Asterius reaches out on instinct, but the doubts- the thoughts that have plagued his mind- dig into his skin and halt his motion as surely as a shackle at his wrist, and in that moment, as quick as a blink, the shade plunges his spear clear through Asterius’ chest.

It’s not the first time he’s died in the afterlife, but it’s rare enough that the sensation is still new. The sharp pain fades as everything turns red and the solid stone of the arena melts away into blood, pulling him under into its gentle current. The din of the crowd fades away and briefly, he thinks he hears Theseus call out to him before everything goes dark.

\--

When Asterius returns to Elysium, Theseus’ back is turned to him as he sits on a bench, tending to his weapon. Whatever wounds he must have sustained during the fight have already healed, but his back is rigid and his motions stiff. There’s a partially-empty bottle of ambrosia at his side and the sight of it stings Asterius like a slap to the face.

There’s silence between them, only the faint whisper of cloth against bronze, but Asterius knows that Theseus knows he’s there.

_ He’s angry then _ . He’s seen the king incensed from all sorts of perceived slights, but he’s never been so quiet about it before. It’s not a state he’s ever imagined Theseus capable of. How angry must he be to be at a loss for words?

It feels deserving, however much it may hurt. Between how he’s acted recently and his performance in the arena, he can’t fault Theseus for being mad. It doesn’t make things any easier though.

Asterius swallows thickly, his throat uncomfortably tight.

“King.” 

Theseus’ movements halt and slowly- painfully slow- he sets his weapon and cloth aside but doesn’t move to face Asterius yet. 

“About my performance-”

“If you want to be free of me, you could always say so.” Theseus’ voice is clipped, as rigid as the line of his shoulders.

Asterius flinches at the words.

“What?”

Theseus turns, at last, to face him. His eyes usually so bright are clouded over and stormy, like his wrath has stirred Poseidon’s blood. 

“Do you think I didn’t notice how you’ve been acting of late, Asterius? You would rather die than take my hand." He casts his gaze to the floor, lips quivering.

"No, king, that's not-"

"Have I truly slighted you so, Asterius?" He looks back up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"No-"

"Ever since the feast to honor Dionysus, it’s like you don’t want to be near me!" Theseus’ voice is frayed at the edges as he stands abruptly, distraught the same as it’d been in the arena. “If my affections have offended you so, then tell me Asterius!”

“King-”

“I thought us beyond such things, Asterius! Have I mistaken our bond?” Theseus begins pacing, gesturing emphatically as he speaks.

“N-”

“If I have then just say so! I cannot bear to think that my actions have hurt you so.”

“K-”

“Oh, but your silence speaks volumes! I’ve made such a fool of myself! To think me- of all people!- would be rej-”

“Theseus.”

The use of his name, so rarely coming from Asterius’ lips, shuts him up finally and stills his movements.

“If you would let me speak and explain.”

“Oh, Asterius, but I can already tell what you’re going to say! Spare me the heartbreak!” 

_Heartbreak?_ The word sparks a faint glimmer of hope in Asterius and for once, he wishes Theseus would keep talking.

“King, you don’t know what I’m going to say, please stop presuming to know how I feel.”

Theseus pouts but doesn’t speak, which is the closest he’ll get to an apology.

“You’ve not mistaken our bond. It’s just-” Asterius pauses, grappling with the right words. He’s never been good with them- never needed to be and it’s complicated even more with  _ feelings _ he’s unfamiliar with.”-the ambrosia.” 

“The ambrosia?” Theseus echos, brow furrowing and he looks at the bottle of ambrosia next to him as if it held all the answers.

“The taste of it,” Asterius pauses, he’s sure Theseus won’t recoil from what he says. “It reminded me of you, and I realized-”

Theseus’ eyebrows raise and his eyes, bright again as if the storm has passed, turn to Asterius searching his face.

“-that perhaps my feelings were more than a warrior's bond like we share and it is unseemly of me to feel such a way.” He bows his head, maybe out of respect for the king, or maybe just to avoid looking at whatever reaction the king might have, Asterius is not sure himself.

“What do you mean Asterius?” Theseus' voice is quiet- at least for him- soft, but as brittle as glass.

Hasn’t he explained it well enough already? Must he really go into more detail?

“My thoughts have been filled with the desire to touch you,” he pauses, wincing at how debased his words sound, “more than that.” That sounds  _ worse _ . He huffs in frustration. How does one describe his feelings better than he already has? “You deserve better.”

There is silence between them, deafening in the absolute stillness. Elysium already feels timeless, but now it seems like time has stopped completely. Only the beating of Asterius’ phantasmal heart betrays otherwise.

“I deserve what I want, shouldn’t I?”

“King-?” He looks up and Theseus is standing a maddeningly short distance away. 

“You speak as if you know what I want,” Theseus says and it almost sounds like an accusation, haughty in the same way he addresses lessers in the arena and Asterius flounders to correct the slight. He’d faulted the king for presuming and now he’s done the same! But Theseus steps forward and reaches out a tentative hand to Asterius’ bicep, his touch light as if testing the waters and it silences whatever words he was about to say. When Asterius doesn’t move away, he presses further, gripping his arm with the same confidence as his spear. “And oh, how long I’ve wanted,” he sounds breathless, whispering the words like a prayer. A confession for Asterius’ ears alone.

“Thes- king-”

“Please, you may use my name!” Theseus beams and he becomes bolder with his touching, his free hand joining in touching Asterius’ other arm, trailing over the curve of his muscles up to the sturdy slope of his neck. 

“Theseus-” the man positively preens at the sound of his name from Asterius. “-you feel the same?” It seems too much to hope. Too much to presume. He needs to hear it plainly.

And Theseus bursts into motion, throwing his arms around Asterius’ neck and pulling him down into a powerful hug.

“Oh, yes, Asterius!  _ Yes!”  _ Theseus nuzzles his face into the soft fur of Asterius’ neck. “Always, yes!”

_ Always _ , Asterius’ thoughts echo the word and the implication of it steals his breath away. (He’s sure it’s not entirely true. He can’t imagine Theseus feeling this when they met in the labyrinth, but it is _ Theseus _ , after all.)

He brings his hands up to Theseus’ waist and being able to touch him, without the doubts plaguing his thoughts, it’s exhilarating. Freeing. His touch doesn’t tarnish the king at all nor does he shy away from it, in fact, he leans into it like he can’t get enough. He encircles his arms around Theseus, returning the hug, and he feels incredibly warm and solid against him. 

The ambrosia may have mimicked the scent and feel of Theseus, but it couldn’t possibly hope to compare to the real thing.

They break the hug and Theseus leans back, hands coming up to cup Asterius’ cheeks. He gazes up at Asterius, eyes practically glittering with joy. (It’s hard to believe he was close to tears mere moments ago.)

This is new territory for Asterius, but so many of his experiences with Theseus were new, it feels only right that this too should be with Theseus.

“Ah!” A thought seems to click into place in Theseus’ head and he’s shifting away, wiggling in Asterius’ grasp as if asking permission to move. He’s reluctant to let go of the king now that he can hold him so freely, but he relaxes his hold and lets Theseus slip away. “I almost forgot, Asterius!” Theseus practically skips over to where he’s left his spear and picks up the bottle of ambrosia sitting there before returning to Asterius. “You must forgive me for having some without you.” 

Asterius snorts. 

“It’s fine, king.” It felt like a sting before, but now he can barely care. He takes the bottle from Theseus anyway.

“But it’s the principle of it, Asterius!” Theseus pouts.

“Hm.” Asterius regards Theseus and then the bottle of ambrosia. There’s more than enough left for Asterius to have on his own and it doesn’t feel right to have it all himself. “Share it with me then?”

Theseus’ smile is so bright, it’s nearly blinding.

“Oh, yes Asterius! Now and always!”

This time when Asterius tastes it, there’s nothing bad. Just the warmth of Theseus in his arms, the feel of his touch, gentle but electric. The mismatched press of their mouths, not meant to fit together yet managing all the same. Enjoying it all the same. The tangle of Theseus’ hair between Asterius’ fingers- somehow even softer than imagined- and the content sigh against his neck when Theseus presses his face there.

It’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it. It's actually the first multichapter fic I've finished so I'm proud to have completed it even if it's not much.  
> I appreciated every comment even if I'm horrible at replying to them orz

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on Tumblr or Twitter @Tadok0ro


End file.
